For Their Sakes
by 1note
Summary: Caught in the grocery store when the mist rolls in, a frightened single mom braves the dangers outside to get back to her kids. Rated M just to be safe.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: (MOVIE SPOILER ALERT)** I really love _The Mist_, both the novella and the screenplay. In the movie particularly, the character of the worried mother who left the store to almost certain doom only to reappear at the end among all those refugees really stuck with me. What all did she go through to reach her kids? I decided I wanted to find out, so I started typing this story.

*****************************************************************************************

**Disclaimer: The novella belongs to Stephen King. The movie adaptation belongs to Frank Darabont and Dimension Films. This fanfic belongs to me, as much as it can belong to anyone on a free website.**

*****************************************************************************************

It's a nasty storm. None of us get much sleep because of it. I don't know what we would've done if our house hadn't come with the root cellar. When we ascend into the now-calm morning we find the power still out. I check out the outside of the house; roof needs to be re-shingled, one of the upstairs windows is cracked, not as bad as I'd feared. Still, with the power out the food's gonna go bad.

"I'm going down to the store," I tell my two kids, "Wanna come along?"

Victor's on the floor playing with his Hotwheels, Wanda's plugged into her Gameboy, both of them are still in their PJ's. "Naw," Wanda answers in a distracted voice, thumbs punching away at the game's controls. Never should've let her father buy her that thing, but I was so relieved my ex even _remembered_ her birthday I kept my objections to myself.

"Okay," I sigh, "I'll be back in a few minutes. Wanda, look after your brother."

"'Kay." I can't even tell if she heard me or if she's answering on autopilot. I consider yanking that stupid game from her hands just to get her attention, but change my mind. Last thing any of us needs is another fight. I kiss the kids goodbye, which earns me a couple of annoyed looks, grab my car keys, and head out.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Something in the mist. That's what the bleeding man screams. Something in the mist took his friend. I would've thought it was a sick joke, but blood's gushing from the man's nose and his terror borders on hysteria. The klaxons used for severe weather are blaring outside, and the mysterious fog is rolling in.

"Screw that," says a man in a hat, "I'm gettin' in my car." He runs out the door.

"Mister, no!" the bleeding man shouts, but it's too late. The man in the hat runs out into the parking lot as the mist comes in like a tide. Through the store's plate-glass front I see figures running ahead like the bleeding man had run, headed for the open stores. I see the man in the hat reach his car and open the driver's side door just as the shifting white obscures him completely. Then, in spite of the distance and the wall of glass, I and the rest of the people in the store hear the man's screams. Not the screams of simple fear, but something worse. The sounds penetrate the oldest parts of our brains; the animal instincts that tell us to run and hide from the big bad predator. But where could we go?

"Pollution cloud," mutters an older man whose rugged features and handlebar moustache make it easy to imagine him roping cattle from the back of a horse, "Mills…down in Rumsford. Some kinda chemical explosion. Has to be." Makes sense. I don't know why it's so hard for me to agree with him.

Then the earthquake strikes, rattling the glass panes until one of them cracks, shaking the merchandise from the shelves which threaten to topple over, making the overhead light fixtures sway menacingly. Everyone falls to their knees, to all fours, shouting and crying as the ground beneath us bucks, no longer reliably solid. One or two light fixtures break loose from their cables and tumble down. By some miracle, nobody's crushed, though I'm sure quite a few people were hurt. It can't be more than a minute, but it feels like forever. It ends as suddenly as it began. We all stay on the floor a few seconds longer, just to be sure.

"That was an earthquake," somebody states the obvious.

"I'm telling ya," the cowboy yells, "the goddamn mills blew up!"

"Is everyone okay?" the little man whose nametag says "Ollie" asks, "Is anybody hurt?"

The store manager speaks up, "Everyone just stay put, okay? Just stay inside the store."

Stay inside? But what about my kids? They're all alone at home, probably scared out of their minds by the earthquake. "I can't," I say in a trembly voice, "I can't stay here, I gotta get home to my kids."

"No. No don't go out there," says the scary woman with her hair in a bun, "It's death out there. It's the End of Days."

The pretty young cashier rolls her eyes and whispers at the woman to stop it.

"Please, everybody," a black man in expensive casual clothes holds up his hands, "Everybody just relax, okay?"

The store manager nods. "He's right. Let's just stay cool. Let's just try to figure out what happened."

But all I can think about are my babies. "I'm sorry, I--I can't just stay here. I have to get home to my kids."

"Ma'am, no, you can't go out there," says the bleeding man.

"Could be a poisonous gas cloud," the cowboy adds, fixated on his rational explanation.

"Didn't you hear that man screaming?" someone else asks me.

Ollie speaks, "I agree. L-let's stay here until we figure it out."

I can't believe I'm hearing this. "You're not listening! I can't stay here," I insist, desperate to convince them, "Wanda's looking after little Victor. She's only eight. Sometimes she forgets she's supposed to be watching him." My voice breaks. I'm starting to cry, I'm so worried for them. I'd left them all alone, so little and helpless. "I told them I'd only be gone a few minutes. She's only eight," I sob.

The bleeding man, obviously concerned, says to me, "For their sakes…don't."

Scared as I am, for their sakes, I will. But I don't want to do this alone. "Well, isn't anybody gonna help me?" I look at the surrounding people, all suddenly quiet. "Won't somebody here see a lady home? You?" I look to the store manager who, sweating and brow furrowed, shakes his head.

I look to the black man who'd spoken so authoritatively. "You?" He purses his lips and lowers his eyes.

I see a tall man on his knees, hugging his weeping son. Maybe he'll sympathize, one parent to another. "You?"

"Ma'am, please, I got my own boy to worry about."

I can see it in all their faces; _Lucky bastard_, they're thinking, to have such a handy excuse. They're all ashamed of their cowardice, but none of them will do anything about it. I've lived in small towns all my life. One of the many things they all have in common is the philosophy that everyone helps each other. But now I see, when things get really bad, it's all hypocrisy.

Angry and betrayed, I head for the door. "I hope you all rot in hell."

Ollie tries to take my arm. "Ma'am, please, wait until--"

"Get off me," I hiss and shake his hold. The bleeding man reaches out to me, but doesn't touch me. His eyes beg me to reconsider, to stay here in the store where it's safe, to abandon my children to whatever might be out there that got the man in the hat. I won't do that. I push open the door, pause to look over my shoulder at the faces of my neighbors. My anger is gone; only disappointment remains. The way they avert their eyes tells me they see this in my face. I turn away, step outside. The door swings shut behind me. The white mist feels like damp cotton against my skin. I can only make out the nearest cars, hulking shadows without detail. Anything could be out there. Anything at all. I think about my Wanda and Victor and step out into the mist, feeling as if it's swallowing me whole.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

I can't believe it; I'm lost in the damn parking lot! I could've sworn I parked just eight spaces from the door, but I must've gotten turned around at some point. I don't recognize anything. Worse, my ears keep picking up noises, like distant foghorns or small scuttling feet. I try to tell myself it's my imagination playing tricks on me, freaked out by the white all around me.

A sudden idea occurs to me and I feel like an idiot for not thinking of it sooner. I dig my keys out of my purse. The car remote dangles from the ring like a black teardrop. I grab it, point it in some random direction, and press the UNLOCK button. Nothing. I wander the parking lot pointing the remote at the looming hulks of the parked cars, pushing the button. Come on…

_Boop-BEEP!_ The headlights flare ahead of me and a little to the right. I gasp in relief. Thank god! I hurry towards my waiting car.

A black shadow passes in front of the lights. Something huge. I freeze like a startled rabbit, heart thudding in my chest. What the hell is that? The apparition towers over me, taller than any man. I can't make out any details, thanks to the mist, and I really don't want to. Just the silhouette is enough to horrify me. The creature, whatever it is, stands on five or six multi-jointed legs that look way to flimsy to support its bulk. Its two long, bent arms end in massive pincers. It looks like a cross between a crab and a praying mantis. I stand completely still, scared out of my mind. Please don't let it notice me! Nothing that looks like that can be harmless. For all I know it's the very thing that got the man in the hat. A low rumble emits from the region of the creature's head, then it swivels its mismatched body and hobbles away, vanishing into the white. It's a few more seconds before I get the nerve to move again. By now the lights of my car have gone out. I head towards where I remember seeing them.

Something scuttles to my left. The hairs on the back of my neck stand on end. Oh, god, it's coming towards me! I don't pause to think about it; I run. The scuttling noise quickens. There's more than one of those things behind me, I realize. My Toyota emerges from the mist; my salvation. I careen into the driver's side door, gasping, my shaking hand fumbling with the door handle. I see movement from the corner of my eye and, despite myself, I turn my head. On the hood of an old pickup, rushing towards me, grey and spiny…a spider the size of a Doberman. The mouth of its skull-like face gapes and a horrible screech assaults my ears. I scream, yank the car door open, and half fall, half leap into the car. I slam the door shut just as the spider slams into the driver's side window; the glass cracks but, thankfully, doesn't shatter. I stare in absolute terror at the hideous thing as it tumbles to the pavement below, stunned by the impact. There are others coming, some only the size of cats, some as big as the first one twitching on the ground. Some of them leap onto my car, turning this way and that as if puzzled by my sudden disappearance. Can't they see me? A moment later they all scuttle off in search of different prey. I grip the steering wheel with white knuckled hands, lean my forehead against it and take a few shuddering breaths. I'm so shaky I don't trust myself to drive just yet.

My god, what the hell is happening? What _were _those things? Where did they come from?

They came with the mist, they must have. Those spiders and that giant crab-thing. What else did this godawful fog bring? What were my children seeing at this moment? Oh, god! A terrible thought arises; were any of the windows open when I left? Did my kids get bored and go outside? No! Don't think about it. Just focus on getting home. They'll be okay. They have to be.

My hands are a little steadier now. I stick the key into the ignition and turn. The engine wheezes to life. I immediately switch on the headlights, which only succeed in pushing back the mist a couple of feet. I'll just have to go slow. I shift into drive and creep through the maze of vehicles towards the direction of the lot's exit (I hope). I try to ignore the shifting blobs of darkness all around me; tricks of the light, I tell myself. I've never been a very good liar.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

With the slow pace, the shifting landscape, it feels as if I've made no progress at all. The hours are slipping by. I'm not sure I'll get home before dark. Wanda and Victor will be hungry by now. Ridiculously, I find myself worrying over whether or not they're eating some real food and not pigging out on potato chips and candy.

Something flashes in front of me. I stomp on the brakes. A figure emerges from the mist and flings itself over the hood of my car. It's a man, bleeding from circular wounds that dot his body. We stare at each other from either side of the windshield, both too stunned to speak. Then something long and sinuous lashes out from the whiteness behind the man and wraps itself around his head. I hear muffled screams, a wet tearing sound. The tentacle peels back, taking the man's face with it. Oh, Christ. Oh, Jesus! It's got his face! Lidless eyes stare at me from a bloodied mass of torn flesh. A lipless mouth with gleaming white teeth gapes wide. If the man is screaming, I can't hear him; I'm too busy with my own terrified shrieks. More tentacles appear. They coil around the thrashing, faceless man and yank him off his feet. The mist engulfs them all.

I bury my face in my hands and sob. Nightmarish images flash behind my tightly closed eyelids. I hardly have the chance to process what's just happened when a tree collides with the passenger side of my car. Not a tree, really, but a leg as big as a fully grown tree. I cry out as my body's thrown about by the force of the impact. My seatbelt digs painfully into my shoulder and chest. The car rolls onto the driver's side and skitters across the road like a pebble kicked by a man on a casual stroll. There's another crunching jolt as my car smashes into a parked minivan, causing the roof to partially cave in. The ensuing silence after so much chaos is deafening. I sit-lie in my overturned car, too numbed with shock to move. A vibration runs through my body, the car, the pavement. The thing that kicked me aside is striding past, so high above on its stilt legs its body is just a vague oval blur.

_OHHHMMmmm!_

Its eerie bellow fills the air with its haunting sound. Is it calling out to others of its kind? Or warning the unlucky to say the hell out of its path?

_wwWAHHHWWwww!_

It passes me by, stepping daintily over houses, or sometimes onto them. What're a few two-story houses to a creature of its size? Like anthills beneath an elephant's feet.

A few minutes after the behemoth's gone, I manage to unbuckle my seatbelt and flop onto the door which is now the bottom of the car. By some miracle, though nearly all the windows are cracked, they're all still in one piece, except the ones underneath me. This is good; I suspect the really dangerous creatures hunt by scent. When I encountered the crab-thing I was downwind of it, whereas the spiders were downwind of _me._ It explains why the crab-thing just walked away as if I wasn't there; it didn't smell me.

It's getting dark. Don't some predators become more active after dark? I'm torn. I'm afraid to go out and leave the flimsy safety of my battered Toyota, but I'm also afraid of what might be happening to my babies. Have they locked themselves inside the house? Are they being attacked at this very moment? They must be so scared. Again, I feel the tears sting my eyes. My throat's raw from so much crying. I'm thirsty. I remember there's a water bottle somewhere in here, knocked from the cup holder during the tumble. I search the sideways vehicle until if find it in the back. The cap's come loose; most of the water's spilled out. Figures. Only a few sips remain. I tip the lukewarm liquid into my mouth, swish it around before swallowing. I'm hungry, too, but there's nothing I can do about that. How the hell can I be hungry after the things I've seen today, anyway?

The night is deepening. I don't want to spend the night in this crushed Toyota. I know it's too dangerous for me to go rushing out into the night when those things might be more active; getting killed won't do my kids any good. But I'll never get any rest in here. Wait…what about the minivan? It's a small town; not everybody locks up their cars. It's just a few feet away. I could rush out and…

But what if there's something already there. Those spiders or something worse? Can't think like that. If I give in to fear now how will I be able to get home to my kids later? I gather my resolve and, checking all the windows to make sure none of the shadows are getting closer, reach up and force the front passenger door open. It creaks ominously. I freeze, waiting for something to react to the noise. Nothing. I wriggle out, squeezed by the door which refuses to stay upright. I roll and land unsteadily on the ground, nearly losing my balance. Hurry! I rush to the dented minivan. Please let it be unlocked! Please let it be empty! God or luck is with me; the undamaged passenger door opens without resistance and I jump into the vehicle, slamming the door shut behind me. The van's dome light glows a few seconds longer, then fades into darkness. It's a relatively new model. The upholstery's so plush and comfortable I feel my body start to relax right away. The unrelenting stress of the day has exhausted me. I haul myself into the backseat, stretch out on its welcoming softness, and half doze off, half pass out while the mist and all the horrors it contains continues to swirl around me.


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N:** Sorry this chapter's kinda short. I promise the next one will have more to it.

*****************************************************************************************

**Disclaimer: The novella belongs to Stephen King. The movie adaptation belongs to Frank Darabont and Dimension Films. This fanfic belongs to me, as much as it can belong to anyone.**

*****************************************************************************************

I don't dream. Too exhausted, I suppose. It's a small mercy. A loud thump wakes me up with a muffled scream. Hand clamped over my mouth I peer around me, totally clueless as to where the hell I am or what's going on. Then I remember. I pull my hand away from my mouth to scrabble around in my purse, still slung around my shoulder. I would've forgotten it in the car if I'd just put it in the seat beside me like I usually do. Being in a panicked hurry makes you forget the oddest little habits. I finally find my little Maglite and switch it on, shine its brilliant beam out the minivan's side window. The flashlight's beam makes the surrounding mist glow eerily. There's other light as well; some of the streetlights are still working. There's shapes out there hovering around them. Jesus…bugs the size of chickens! They're swarming around the streetlights like mosquitoes. One of them must've bumped against the minivan to make that thud. I switch off the Maglite; I don't want those things coming over here. Besides, I can see well enough with the streetlights on. I watch, enthralled, as the huge bugs flutter around in the glowing mist with their shimmering wings. There's something almost beautiful about the sight.

Something large swoops out of the surrounding dark and dive-bombs the bugs, snatching one from the air, only to disappear once again. I blink in surprise. Whatever it is, it's damn fast. Another one--or the same one--flashes by again. I get the impression of leathery skin and too many flapping wings. Some kind of giant bat or bird? Whatever it/they are, they're sure taking advantage of all those light-bedazzled bugs. That's when it occurs to me; these things in the mist, whatever or wherever they came from, they're not demons or monsters from some unfathomable place. They're animals. Big, dangerous animals, to be sure, but that's all. There's no malice or evil intent to their actions. They're just doing whatever they have to in order to survive. I find this oddly comforting. This isn't Armageddon, just some kind of weird natural or unnatural screwup. Might even have something to do with that Arrowhead Project up on the mountain. I shiver. What in god's name could've caused something this horrendous?

It doesn't matter. It's too big for one person to think about, so I won't even try. My mind's just trying to distract itself from worry over my kids. It's still too dark out there to risk leaving the minivan, and I'm way too alert to try going back to sleep. I occupy myself with exploring my little sanctuary. Whoever owns this van's either a neat freak or they just bought this thing. I don't even find any pocket change crammed between the seat cushions. I _do_ find a half-eaten Powerbar, though. I hate Powerbars, and this one's all covered with someone else's germs, but I eat it anyway. Need to keep up my strength.

I open the glove compartment and start rummaging. I find the vehicle's registration, hold it up to the window to let the streetlights' dim glow illuminate the page: Martha Anderson. I wonder if she's holed up somewhere or if something out there already got her. I shove the paper back into the compartment and slam it shut. I pull down the visors hoping Martha's one of those gullible people who keeps there keys "cleverly hidden" by sandwiching them between the visor and the ceiling. My luck doesn't hold out; no keys. Guess I'll have to walk come morning.

In one of the door pockets I find, oddly enough, a portable radio. Probably belongs to one of Martha's kids, if she has any. I turn it on, twist the tuner up and down the entire range of frequencies. Nothing but static, even on the AM stations. Not even Portland. Is the mist blocking the signals somehow, or has it actually reached that far already? I hope it's only the former. I don't know what'll happen if this stuff doesn't stop encroaching on our world. For all I know it could wind up blanketing the whole planet. If that happens, what chance do any of us have? I switch off the radio. Outside, I can hear the flying things squawking. Guess they don't believe in stealth.

Are my kids staring out one of the windows watching creatures like these, the bugs and flying things? The power was still out when I…when I left them. I doubt there was any time for it to get fixed before the mist rolled in. Victor's terrified of the dark, always has been. Even as a baby he needed a nightlight in his room. There's candles at home, but the kids are forbidden to handle matches or lighters, so they're probably sitting around in the dark right now. I was going to get some batteries for the bigger Maglite I keep at home when I went to the store--I check my watch--yesterday. I check my watch again; it's later (or earlier) than I thought. The sun'll be up soon. I stuff my mini-flashlight back into my purse and settle back in the seat to wait.

The bugs clear out as the night wanes, and the flying things with them. The mist gradually turns from slate gray to cottony white. As close to daylight as I'll find. My hands tremble as I grab hold of the door handle. I'm afraid of what might still be out there; tentacles or spiders or shambling, unseen masses in the fog. If I try to head straight for home, I know I'll never make it. My plan is to run to the nearest house and hope it's unlocked, get inside, maybe grab something to eat and drink, then run to the next house and the next until I'm home. After that, well, I'll just have to cross that bridge when I get to it.


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N:** I decided to name the character after the actress who portrayed her in the movie (Melissa McBride), who did a fantastic job and totally owned the scene she was in.

Just so's you all won't get confused, I'm letting you know that the end of this chapter switches from the first person to the third person POV. It's only temporary. I'll switch back to the first person in the next chappie.

*****************************************************************************************

**Disclaimer: The novella belongs to Stephen King. The movie adaptation belongs to Frank Darabont and Dimension Films. This fanfic belongs to me, so you know who to blame if you don't like it.**

*****************************************************************************************

Do it. _Now_, before I lose my nerve. I yank the door handle, shove the minivan's door open, and leap out into the mist. The nearest house is just a few yards away; it might even belong to the owner of the van I spent the night in. I run as fast as I can for the front door and pray it's unlocked. It's not. I'm so shocked by this I jiggle the doorknob as if it might suddenly unlock itself.

"No," I hear myself mutter, "Nonono!"

There are sounds behind me. My imagination conjures up all sorts of horrors looming over me. I dash around to the back of the house, more from panic than hope of finding the backdoor open. It's there that I find the house's owners; man, woman, and boy. Their bodies are shrouded in gauzy webs and hang from the branches of a lifeless tree. There's no doubt in my mind that they're all dead. There's a dog as well, a Labrador, glued to the tree's trunk. I stand in place like a fool and gawp at the terrible sight. Movement draws my attention to the dog. Oh, god, it's still alive! I actually take a step towards it as if I might be able to help. Then I realize the way it moves is all wrong. Not the dog, but something _inside_ it. My hands clamp over my mouth as I watch the animal's skin writhe and blister. It bursts like a cluster of overblown balloons and hundreds of palm-sized spiders pour out. I feel stinging bile rise in my throat.

From the corner of my eye I catch something moving towards me and I spin. More of those giant spiders coming after me, screeching from their skull-like faces. My hands fall from my mouth and I scream as my feet carry me away. I don't think about where I might be running, just as long as it's away from those things! Anything would be better than winding up a larder for baby spiders.

"Over here!"

My eyes turn to the source of the miraculous sound of a human voice. Someone stands in an enclosed porch waving his arms. I alter my frantic course to reach him. He unlatches the screen door as I pound up the rickety wooden steps and I plunge through. The man slams the door shut, rushes to the sturdier door that leads into the house. I hear the frustrated yowls of the spiders behind us as we dash through the door. My savior slams the door shut and turns the deadbolt with an audible _clunk_.

"Thank you," I gasp, almost sobbing with relief.

The man runs a shaky hand through hair almost as short as mine. "Christ! Didn't think there was anybody left alive out there." He's younger than I am, late twenties or early thirties, with brown hair and eyes so dark they're almost black. Not bad looking, though his cheeks are cratered with pockmarks. Must've had the worst case of acne as a teen.

"I'm Aaron." He offers his hand. I almost laugh at the sheer normalcy of the gesture after what happened just a few seconds ago, but I know if I give in to the hysteria now I won't be able to stop until I pass out.

I take Aaron's hand, warm and smooth against my own. "Melissa."

"Was that your house you were trying to get into?"

I shake my head. "No." Strange that he doesn't recognize his own neighbors. "You new here?"

Aaron smiles ruefully. "This isn't my place. I sorta broke in when everything went apeshit. Person who lived here was an older lady."

A sense of dread comes over me; an all-to-familiar sensation lately. "'Was'?"

He nods, expression solemn. "Found her in the kitchen. She hanged herself. I moved her into the bedroom."

"Oh." I feel suddenly lightheaded. I stumble to a doily-draped couch and collapse into it, my head in my hands.

My ears pick up the sound of Aaron's heavy footsteps drawing near. "You okay?"

I do laugh this time, high-pitched and unsteady. "Just great! Fantastic!" I somehow get a hold of myself and wipe the tears from my eyes. Didn't even realize I've been crying. "Sorry. I'm a little out of it. Haven't eaten in a while."

Aaron looks at me in sympathy. "C'mon." He takes my arm in a gentle grip. I stand and follow him to the kitchen. The power still works here; I microwave a spaghetti dinner and pour myself a glass of orange juice. While I eat we exchange stories. Aaron was playing basketball at a nearby park with some friends when the mist appeared. Most of his friends were snatched away almost immediately. Aaron and two other guys panicked and ran. One of the two guys separated from them, the other was attacked by spiders. "Those webs they shoot out, they cut into him like they were coated in acid," he shudders at the memory, "There wasn't anything I could do for him, so I kept running. Started searching around houses till I found one with a key hidden under a flowerpot." He snorts. "Always made fun of people who did that. Thought they were beggin' to get robbed."

"Lucky for you the old lady was one of those people."

"Yeah." His expression sobers. "Heard your car crash last night, but I couldn't tell how far away it was. Damn fog does funny things to sounds."

I shrug. "Not as if you could've done anything for me. At least you helped me now."

"Well, my intentions weren't entirely noble," he laughs, "I've been goin' nuts wandering around this house by myself. Radio doesn't work, TV doesn't work…"

I set my fork down with care. "I'm not staying, Aaron. I have to get home to my kids."

He stares at me in surprise. "You just barely got away from those things outside and you _still_ wanna try that crazy plan of yours?"

"You got a better one?" I ask quietly.

"Yes! We wait here till the army or the national guard rescues us. We got plenty of food--"

"That could take days," _if ever_, I think, "I can't leave my kids all by themselves."

"What good is getting yourself killed gonna do them?"

I glare at him. "If you had kids of your own, you'd understand."

He turns away from me, growling in frustration. I lick my lips, suddenly nervous by what I'm about to ask. "You could…come with me."

His head jerks back to meet my gaze, eyes wide. "Have you lost your mind? _I'm_ not goin' out there! I'm staying in here where it's safe."

Just like back at the store. Nobody's willing to risk their own skins to help a stranger. I try not to hold it against him; he's already done more than the others have. "Alright," I sigh, "I'll go alone." I begin to stand.

"Wait." Aaron rises to his feet, one hand held out in a _halt_ gesture. "Just…gimme a second." He sighs and steps out of the kitchen. Puzzled, I follow him to find him out to the living room where he picks up a set of keys from the end table. "These're the keys to the old lady's car," he explains, "It should be out in the garage. Unfortunately, it's a _detached_ garage, so you'll have to make a run for it."

I take the keys, look at him in gratitude. "Thank you."

Aaron runs his hand through his hair and doesn't meet my eyes. "Should take some food along, maybe. I'll go find a bag to put it in." He walks away before I can say anything more. I tuck the keys away in my purse (trusty ol' thing's still with me) and return to the kitchen where I gather a few canned goods and a can opener, some bottled water. As an afterthought, I find the bathroom and grab a roll of toilet paper. Aaron returns with a small duffel bag and we quickly fill it.

At the front door, his hand on the knob, Aaron turns to me and asks, "You sure you wanna go through with this? Maybe you should wait--" "For what?" I interrupt, adjusting the duffel on my shoulder, keys in my other hand, "If I don't go now, while there's still some daylight, I'll lose my nerve and I might never leave. I can't let that happen, Aaron."

"Okay," he sighs. He tightens his grip on the doorknob, turns back he deadbolt with his other hand. His dark eyes stare at me with a mixture of worry and guilt. "Good luck, Melissa."

I nod, my throat too tight to answer. Aaron starts to count down: _three…two…one!_ The door opens; I hurry out. I thought I felt alone when I left the store yesterday, but that was nothing compared to going through this a second time, knowing there's someone behind me who could help, but won't. This knowledge brings its own unique loneliness. I take a breath and step out into the mist once again, eyes and ears wide open for the slightest hint of danger. The detached garage looms ahead of me. I quicken my pace.

_SQUEEEAL!_ A dog-sized spider leaps off the garage roof and lands in front of me. I scream and half jump, half stumble away from it. It scrambles towards me with incredible speed. It's too close! I won't make it.

I'm suddenly shoved aside and a tall figure rushes past me. Aaron, raising a brass candlestick over his head and smashing it into the giant spider's humanish skull. If anything, the creature's screeches are even louder than before and Aaron brings his makeshift club down on its head again and again until black stuff oozes from the splintered pulp and the multi-legged body spasms. I gape stupidly until Aaron turns and yells, "Move!" I run to the garage door, grab its handle, and heave. Thank god it's not locked. It slides up with a noisy rattle. I can hear the squeals of more spiders behind me and the thuds of Aaron's candlestick striking them. I dash into the garage where a green ford Tempo sits, fumble with the unfamiliar keys until I find the right one to unlock the driver's side door. As I yank it open I hear Aaron cry out. I fling the duffel bag into the backseat, leap into the car, slam the door closed. I jam the key into the ignition and turn the engine, put the car into reverse, and hit the gas. I hear and feel the satisfying crunches of spiders caught beneath the tires. Aaron rushes out of the surrounding mist and pounds on the passenger door. I quickly deactivate the door lock. Aaron jumps in, slams the door. I put the car into drive and speed off into the mist, headlights blazing ineffectually against the grey-white shroud.

"Slow down," Aaron rasps a few seconds later, "You're gonna hit something."

He's right. I force myself to let up on the gas pedal. Our speed diminishes to a cautious 20mph, which is probably still too fast for this lousy visibility. I turn to the man beside me and gasp at the sight of blood dripping from between the fingers of his hand which is clamped over the other.

"Not as bad as it looks," he tries to reassure me through clenched teeth, "One of those fuckin' spiders shot out a web and yanked the candlestick from my hand, took some skin with it."

I pull the car onto the curb and put it in park, swivel in my seat to face him. "Lemme see it." I reach for his injured hand. Aaron uncovers the wound to let me take a look at it. All that blood frightens me. I grab a water bottle from the duffel to rinse the blood away, find a packet of Kleenex in my purse to dab it dry. A long, narrow strip of skin's been torn away from the back of his hand. It looks painful, but not dangerous, unless it gets infected. I berate myself for not checking the medicine cabinet back at the house. Instead, I pull out a wet-nap from my purse. The warning label says not to use it on open wounds, but I don't want to risk Aaron catching gangrene. So, with an apologetic look, I rip open the packet and press the damp square to the wound. Aaron hisses, "Sonuvabitch! That really hurts!"

"Sorry." I clean his wound as best as I can, then press more Kleenex to it. A red stain spreads over the white tissue, holding it in place. "Bleeding's pretty much stopped," I mutter, wishing I had some bandages.

"Hope it doesn't get infected," says Aaron, echoing my own worry. He looks at my handiwork and offers me a faint smile. "Thanks."

"Thank _you_," I smile, "Seem to be saying that a lot to you."

"Yeah, well, don't be too grateful. I'm already regretting this." Aaron lowers his eyes as if suddenly bashful.

I rest my hand on his forearm. "I mean it. I left a whole store full of people yesterday who wouldn't do what you just did for me. Thank you."

He shrugs, uncomfortable with my praise. "Better get going."

"Right." I pull my hand away, turn back to the steering wheel. The fuel gauge shows less than a quarter of a tank. It'll be enough, I tell myself. I put the car into drive, pull away from the curb, and head for home.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"Tell me about your kids."

I tear my dull stare from the ever-present haze long enough to see Aaron's expression is as bored as I feel. Funny, given all that's happening, I would've thought that boredom would be the least of our problems.

"Wanda's eight years old," I reply, "and Victor's six."

"Their dad isn't with them?"

I shake my head. "We got divorced about two years ago. Had to threaten him with a lawsuit just to get him to pay child support." I can't quite conceal the disgusted anger from my voice.

"Real prince charming, huh?" Aaron grins.

"Yeah," I sigh. Melancholy thoughts creep into my mind, in spite of my resistance. "My kids were mad at me for the longest time, especially Wanda. They blamed me for the divorce, you see. I never told them about…"

From the corner of my eye I see Aaron's face take on a look of understanding. "About the other woman?"

"Women. Yeah." My hands tighten on the wheel. "Jake, my ex, can be charming as hell. That's why the kids can never stay upset with him, even when he forgets their birthdays and Christmas. I'm the one who's always the bad guy, the responsible one."

"Sounds like Jake's kind of an asshole."

I snort. "Yeah, well, I'm the one who fell in love with him, so what does that make me?"

"Hell, if I knew what motivated women to fall in love with anyone, I wouldn't still be single," Aaron chuckles wryly. I can't help but laugh in return. Then something awful appears ahead and the laughter dies in my throat. I brake to a stop.

"Damn," Aaron breathes.

There's been a pileup; what looks like dozens of vehicles all twisted and squashed together in a single mass of tangled metal and glass. If I look real carefully, I could probably make out bodies in the nearest cars. I don't look carefully.

"Shit!" I slap the steering wheel in frustration. This is the most direct route to my house. "We'll never get past this."

"Guess we'll hafta take a detour," Aaron says reasonably.

I bite my lip; I'm not sure there's enough gas in the tank. But what other choice is there? I turn off into a side road. Time creeps along, as does the car. We stop at one point to grab a bite (which is kind of messy since I didn't think to bring any forks or spoons) and Aaron cleans his wound again. He has to wet the Kleenex before it'll peel off. The wound looks red and painful, but not swollen, which I guess is a good sign. Aaron cleans it with another wet-nap from my purse, grimacing and cussing under his breath, and dabs it dry with more tissue, but doesn't cover it. "Gonna try and let it scab over." He flexes his hand experimentally.

"How bad is it?" I ask.

He shrugs. "I'll live. Think the wet-naps helped, actually. Doesn't hurt as bad as before."

I hope he's not just saying that to reassure me.

We drive on. The light begins to wane while the needle on the fuel gauge inches closer to the E. The first giant bugs of the night appear and swoop around the car's headlights. I realize the flying things won't be far behind, so I reluctantly pull over to the curb and switch off the engine and the lights, plunging us into darkness made all the more eerie by the distant glow of the streetlights.

"Guess we're spending the night here," Aaron observes with a wry voice.

I nod. "Guess so," my voice rasps. I wipe my stinging wet eyes. A second night out here. My kids'll be alone for a second night. I sniff, force myself to stay calm. "You want the backseat?" I ask.

The silhouette of Aaron shakes its head. "Nah. You can have it. It's too cramped for me, anyway."

"'Kay." I climb into the back, moving the duffel onto the floorboards. I take a bottle of water from the bag and take a drink, then pass it up to Aaron who thanks me with a quiet grunt and takes a deep swig.

"Could really use something stronger," he mutters.

"Me too." I curl up on the lumpy upholstery in a vain attempt to get comfortable. "Good night, Aaron."

"G'night, Melissa." I can tell from his tone he's already half asleep. I close my eyes and force my body to relax.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Aaron wakes late in the night to the sound of weeping. He turns in his seat to peer into the back, but can only make out the faint outline of the older woman curled in the backseat. He reaches out, lays a hand on her trembling shoulder. She jumps with a faint squeak of alarm.

"It's okay," Aaron hastens to assure her, "Just me. What's wrong? Did you have a nightmare?"

"I…I can't stop thinking about my kids," Melissa chokes, "I told them I'd only be gone a few minutes. It's been two days! They must be so scared. They probably think I'm dead or…"

"Shhh." Aaron climbs into the backseat and wraps his arms around the crying woman. He rocks her gently back and forth. "It'll be okay. If they're half as gutsy as their mom, those kids'll be just fine."

Melissa sniffs. "I'm not gutsy."

"You kidding? You keep rushing out into the mist even after you've seen what all's out there and you don't think you're gutsy?"

"You came with me," she points out, already sounding calmer.

Aaron chuckles, "Guess it's contagious."

"I just can't stop thinking about them. How scared they must be. How helpless they are. They're only babies." She starts to cry again.

Aaron holds her close, tries to soothe her with kind words and gentle touches. He kisses her forehead, her cheeks, tastes the salt of her tears. Melissa clings to him, seeking comfort in the younger man's solidity. It isn't something they plan; one of Aaron's kisses lands on the woman's trembling lips and she leans into it, deepening the contact. Both gasp in surprise, but neither pulls away. The darkness, the mutual fear and need to connect to another living person quells whatever hesitance they might feel. Soon their roving hands pull away the barriers of clothing. Melissa's sobs turn into soft moans and sighs, ending all too soon in a sharp cry of fulfillment. Afterwards, they lie spooned together in the cramped confines of the backseat, skin against skin, and fall into a deep, dreamless sleep.


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N:** Final chapter, everybody! Hope it's been an enjoyable read.

*****************************************************************************************

**Disclaimer: The novella belongs to Stephen King. The movie adaptation belongs to Frank Darabont and Dimension Films. This fanfic belongs to me.**

*****************************************************************************************

Things are painfully awkward the next morning. We get dressed without looking at each other, then climb into the front seats. I start the car without a word, switch on the headlights, and drive on. There's less than an eighth of a tank of gas left. After a few minutes of heavy silence, Aaron finally breaks.

"Look, I'm real sorry about…" he waves his hands vaguely, face so red he looks like he's sunburned, "I totally took advantage and--"

"N-no," I interrupt, equally embarrassed, "It's okay, really. I…it helped." God, of all the things to talk about at the end of the world!

The corner of Aaron's mouth twitches. "Heat of the moment?"

"Yeah." I give a little laugh. The worst of the awkwardness begins to pass.

Aaron digs out a can of peaches from the duffel. "Want some?"

"Sure." Without utensils, we have to use our fingers, which isn't easy with canned peaches. More than a few bites wind up on our shirts and we soon find ourselves laughing like kids.

"We almost there?" Aaron asks a little while later.

I peer through the murk ahead of us. "Not much farther. A few more blocks." I glance nervously at the fuel gauge.

"Any ideas what we're gonna do once we get there?"

I shrug. "Wait for rescue, I suppose."

"Assuming there's anybody left to rescue us."

The pessimism in his words troubles me. "What else can we do?"

"Pile everybody into the car, maybe. See if we can outrun the mist." Aaron shrugs. "Hell, I dunno. Just thinking out loud."

"Right now," I tell him, "I'm just focusing on getting to my kids. Whatever happens after that…we'll just have to wait and see."

"Sure." We lapse into silence after that.

There are other wrecks along the way, and in one place a huge tree's toppled over, blocking the whole street. I wind up taking a couple of more detours, and as a result the fuel runs out before we reach home. I try not to let the hopelessness overwhelm me as the car clunks to a halt.

"Shit!" Aaron looks over my shoulder at the gauge. "Why didn't you say anything?"

"What good would it've done?"

We stare out at the swirling mist, both knowing what our only real option is. Aaron grabs the duffel bag, I shoulder my faithful purse. Our hands grip the door handles and our eyes meet in mutual anxiety.

"Ready?" Aaron says.

I nod.

"'Kay, let's go." We yank on the handles, jump out of the car, and start jogging.

"It's not far," I explain, pointing in the right direction, "We can cut through the neighbors' yards."

"Long as there's nothing waiting for us there."

"That's the spirit," I mutter.

We check to make sure the nearest yard's clear of whatever creatures might lurk in the mist before climbing over the chain-link fence. There's plastic play equipment: a slide, a seesaw, a mini picnic table. No sign of any kids, though, but I don't look too closely. We make it through the first yard and the next. There's no sign of any people anywhere, living or dead. I hope this is a good sign; maybe they all escaped somewhere.

In the third backyard we traverse, my foot lands on what looks like a small pile of leaves only to suddenly fall through. I cry out in alarm as my foot sinks in past the ankle. Aaron grabs my arm and yanks me away. From the hole my foot leaves behind, something long and sinewy peeps out. Some kind of long feeler. The two of us back away from it, Aaron still gripping my arm. A gigantic centipede-looking creature crawls out of the hole and rears up to display rows of circular mouths and bulging grey-white eyes. It hisses menacingly.

"Oh, fuck…" It takes me a second to realize those words are mine.

The centipede lunges towards us. We run, dodging the piles of leaves that we both now realize are burrows. Already more of those long, segmented bodies are starting to break through. We head for the house, the nearest promise of shelter from these new horrors. Aaron struggles with the doorknob. "Shit! It's locked!"

I search frantically for a way out, but there's none. The centipedes have us surrounded. I find myself pressed back against Aaron, his arms around my shoulders as if he might somehow shield me from what's about to happen to us. I grip his forearms and squeeze my eyes shut. The faces of my kids loom in my thoughts.

There's a click behind us; the door miraculously swings open and hands reach out to grab us and drag us inside. The door slams shut as the nearest centipede scrabbles up the steps, squealing in anger.

"Thank god!" Aaron gushes. Our saviors are a handful of women, four of them. I recognize Sonja and Meriam, a mother and teenaged daughter who live three houses down from my home; and Angie whose house we're in right now. I've never seen the fourth woman before, a meek blonde with a sizeable bruise on her face.

"Thank you so much, Angie," I say, laying a hand on her shoulder. She fidgets under my touch.

"'S nothing."

"What the fuck!" Everyone jumps at the sudden bellow from down the hall. The blonde cringes and whimpers like a kicked dog. A squat, pinch-faced man lumbers down the hallway towards us; Martin Caldwell from down the block. He's the source of a lot of gossip in the neighborhood. Divorced at least twice, always bringing home different young girls. He glowers at me and Aaron, then at the others. "The fuck didya let them in for?"

Angie stammers, "Th-they were running from the bugs and--" Her voice dies away at one look from him. All the women in the room, I notice, are keeping their eyes down and their shoulders hunched. Aaron and I exchange worried looks.

Martin stares at me. "You can stay. That little shit beside ya's gotta go."

"_Outside?" _I exclaim, "But there's things out there--"

"I'm not wastin' my food an' protection on him," he growls. If anything, the women seem to cringe further, as if trying to retreat into the walls.

Aaron holds up both hands. "Look, man, I--"

Martin raises his hand and it's then that we notice the gun. He points it at Aaron who stares in wide-eyed shock. "Got two choices, asshole. You can walk out, or these bitches can carry you out," he smirks, "Makes no difference to me."

It hits me that we've escaped into a situation no better than what we ran from. I nudge Aaron towards the door. "Okay, we'll go."

"Nooo," Martin says in a chiding tone, "_You _stay. _He_ goes."

I swallow, shake my head. "I'm not staying here. I gotta get home. My kids--"

He laughs nastily. "You think those brats of yours are still alive?"

"Mart--"

"Shut the fuck up," he snarls, and now the gun's pointed at me. I stare down that black tube and feel my insides turn to ice water. "You don't talk unless I say so. Got that, bitch?"

I feel my throat constrict until I can hardly breathe. I've never been this terrified, even when running from the creatures outside. At least I know they're just animals acting like animals, doing what they have to for survival. What this man is doing now isn't about survival; it's about knowing he can do whatever he wants to us without consequence. No police, no courts. Without those things, some of us are _worse _than animals.

Martin suddenly marches up to me; the gun's only inches from my face. "I said, _you got that?_"

A faint whimper escapes my throat and I nod shakily. I can see Martin's arm start to relax. I don't know what possesses me to do what happens next; my hands reach out and grab his wrist, twisting it to the side. The gun goes off accidentally, blowing a small hole in the wall. Somebody screams, Martin roars. His free hand balls into a fist, ready to punch me. Desperate, I sink my teeth into his hand and almost gag on the salty taste of his blood. He lets out a scream that's surprisingly high pitched. I wonder why he hasn't hit me yet when I realize Aaron's got hold of his other arm. The three of us grapple in the narrow entryway while the women cry out and try to stay out of the line of fire. The gun goes off again, something shatters. God, if it hits a window anything could get in! I bite down harder on his hand, but Martin refuses to let go of the gun. Maybe he knows what'll happen to him if he loses his only weapon, or maybe it's just pigheadedness.

From the corner of my eye I see Angie grab something from a shelf; some clunky heirloom, probably. She raises it in both hands and brings it crashing down on Martin's head. The weight of his suddenly limp body causes all three of us to tumble to the floor. It's like a catalyst; the four women who'd stood by and watched abruptly rush forward, yelling and screaming obscenities at the man who'd held them captive. Aaron and I manage to disentangle ourselves and scramble away from the melee. Martin's body is all but obscured by the kicking, punching figures of the harem that's turned against him. The battered blonde finds the gun and snatches it up, jams the barrel against Martin's crotch and pulls the trigger. Christ, the sound he makes! I stand there with my hands over my bloodied mouth and my eyes wide while beside me Aaron gapes open-mouthed.

"Throw him outside!" someone shouts. Young Meriam runs to the door and unlatches it while the other three drag the feebly squirming man across the floor, leaving a streak of blood on the floorboards. Martin tries to grab the doorjamb only to have his fingers stomped. They women roll him out the door as the first centipedes, probably drawn by the scent of his blood as much as the noise, once again emerge from their burrows.

_Oh, please,_ I think, _Not like this. Shoot him in the head, at least._ But my voice remains dead in my throat.

The door slams on Martin's bloodied, terrified face. The door thuds repeatedly as he beats his fists against it. "Lemme in!" he screams, _"Lemme the fuck in!"_ We hear the chittering screeches of the centipedes draw near, then Martin's screams take on an entirely different sound. There's no words, only pain and terror, so loud and keen I think my ears might start to bleed. I remove my hands from my mouth, ball them into fists and press them to my ears, then retreat down the hall. But nothing will blot out the sounds.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Angie shows me to the bathroom where I vomit into the toilet and wash the blood off my face. My hands won't stop shaking. I find Aaron sitting on the floor just outside the bathroom, his back to the wall. He looks about as messed up as I feel. I lower myself down beside him. We sit in silence for several minutes before I finally speak. "If you don't think you can go any further, I'll understand."

Aaron laughs hollowly. "You mean stay here? With _them?_ No thanks."

I can't blame him. I wouldn't want to stay here either, after what just happened, especially if I was a man. "It's not far. If you look out the front window you can see the roof of my house."

He nods, sighs. "Okay." Aaron stands and extends his hand to me. I take it, grateful for the gesture, and let him pull me to my feet. We shoulder our meager belongings and head for the front door.

"Wait." Angie approaches us, Martin's gun in her hand. She holds it out to me. "Still has a coupla bullets."

I stare at the weapon. I don't want to touch it. Instead, Aaron takes the gun. He holds it with little confidence.

Sonja unlocks the front door, puts her hand on the doorknob. "Good luck."

We nod our thanks. The door opens and we hurry outside, eager to escape this traumatic place. We jog across the street, huddle close to the next house we reach. Our eyes scan the foggy surroundings for movement, but it's difficult to decide what's the mist and what's something _inside_ the mist.

"I have a kid," Aaron says abruptly. I look at him in surprise. "A son," he explains while we continue to inch along, "Got his mom pregnant in high school. They live in Boston with her husband. Haven't seen them in years."

We reach the end of the wall, check our surroundings, and rush to the next building. Once our backs are against it Aaron continues, "Guess what I'm trying to say is, even though me 'n my son are strangers to each other, if I knew he was out here somewhere, alone, I'd try to get to him just like you are with your kids."

I look at him and take his hand--the one without the gun--in my own. "I'm glad you're here with me," I tell him.

Aaron smiles. "Not to sound like I'm nagging you or anything, but are we there yet?"

I give a small laugh, point with my other hand. "It's right over there."

He nods. "One mad dash oughta do it."

We ready ourselves, still holding hands. I think I catch Aaron muttering a prayer. Then we're running, my house just ahead of us. Almost there.

The mist does strange things to a person's perceptions. Something you think couldn't possibly sneak up on you will appear out of the fog without warning, like a ghost. I can't describe the thing that suddenly blocks our path, except that it's huge and covered in menacing spikes. It lashes out with a jointed claw and snatches Aaron from beside me, his hand slipping from mine before either of us have a chance to react. I see the gun fall from his hand and tumble to the ground, hear a terrible wet sound followed by Aaron's screams. I scream as well and scramble for the fallen weapon, though how the tiny pistol could do any damage to something so monstrous is beyond me. I just know that I have to do _something_. I raise the gun in my unsteady hands, point it at the looming figure. I can still hear Aaron crying out. My finger tightens on the trigger.

Like I said before, things appear out of nowhere from the mist, like ghosts. Like angels.

The creature recoils as gunfire strikes its body, black blood spattering on the pavement. Its flailing claw tosses Aaron's limp body aside. He lands a few feet away with a hard thud. I drop the pistol, still unfired, and rush to his side while flames lash out from the fog and bathe the roaring monster in orange light. There's a loud sizzle and a stink like burning hair. The wounded creature turns and lumbers off into the mist. Figures emerge. Soldiers, dressed in gasmasks, bearing guns and flamethrowers. They form a circle around me and Aaron while two of them hurry to Aaron's side. Medics, I realize, and it's then that I notice Aaron's right leg is gone. My hand covers my mouth, tears sting my eyes.

"Ma'am, are you injured?" one of the medics asks. I shake my head, look down at my wounded friend.

Aaron's dark eyes meet my own, alive and lucid. Thank god. He manages a weak smile. "Goddamn miracle."

"Not yet," I respond, then rise to my feet and address one of the soldiers, "My kids are in that house." I point at my home. The soldier nods and orders a group to the house. "I'm going with them," I say.

The soldier shakes his head. "Sorry, ma'am, but you need to stay with us. Don't worry. We'll get your kids for you."

I want to argue, but I'm just too damn tired. Instead I kneel beside Aaron, out of the medics' way, and take his hand. "Is he gonna be okay?" I ask.

One of them replies, "He's lost a lot of blood, but he's stable." Which, I suppose, is the best answer I can expect. Aaron squeezes my hand.

"I'll be fine," he croaks. For some reason his trying to reassure me makes me lose it and I start to cry.

"You lost your leg," I sob.

"Yeah, but I'm alive," he says, still trying to put a brave face on things, "I can get one of those prosthetics and brag about how heroic I was." He grins weakly.

I wipe my eyes with my free hand. "You _are _heroic. I never would've made it this far without you." And I bend down to kiss him.

"Mommy!"

I turn at the beautiful sound, see my babies running towards me, Wanda holding Victor's hand. I jump to my feet and run to them, laughing and sobbing at the same time. Their little bodies crash into me and I wrap my arms around them, so tight I'm probably leaving bruises, but none of us cares.

"Are you okay?" I ask them, "Were you hurt?"

Wanda answers, "No. I did like you said, Mommy. I looked after Victor." Tears run down her face, her lips tremble. I kiss her tearstained cheeks and tell her how proud I am of her, how brave she and her brother are.

The soldier interrupts our reunion with obvious reluctance. "Ma'am, we need to go. There's a convoy not far from here."

"Alright." I straighten, holding my kids' hands in each of my own. I see Aaron placed on a stretcher and lifted by two other soldiers. As we are led by our armed escort I bring my kids closer to the stretcher. "Wanda, Victor, I'd like you to meet Aaron. He helped me get back to you."

The children offered their timid hellos. I can't blame them for being wary; Aaron looks like death warmed over. Still, the younger man offers a kind smile. "Hey, kids. You know, you mom's a real hero of mine."

I smile as my kids look proudly up at me.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

I'm amazed at how huge the convoy is; tanks and transports and even helicopters! How could we have missed it all? There must be hundreds of soldiers, hundreds more survivors, and people in strange white biohazard suits. Scientists, I suppose. Guess all this was caused by the Arrowhead Project after all.

Aaron is loaded onto a mobile hospital. I promise to visit him as soon as I can, then the kids and I are taken to one of the transport vehicles already crammed with other survivors. It offers quite a view as we trundle down the highway, collecting more survivors and driving back the mist. Soldiers to either side of the convoy wield their impressive flamethrowers, scorching whole nests of giant bugs and spiders. It seems like every time they use them the mist evaporates a little more. I'm relieved by this. The world hasn't ended. We can survive and rebuild from this.

Victor points ahead. "Look!"

I peer over his shoulder. Ahead of our transport is an old SUV parked on the side of the road. There's a man standing beside it. As we pass, I see it's the man from the store, the one who'd been comforting his little boy. His face is lightly spattered with blood. I can see more blood inside the windows of his vehicle. Jesus, what happened? The man's eyes meet mine and in that instant I see recognition and something darker. Something tragic. Now we're past him, and I see his diminishing figure fall to his knees, hear his voice rise in a wail of despair. I turn away from the sight, hug my children close to me.

"Are the monsters going away, Mommy?" Victor asks.

"Yes, sweetie," I smile, "The monsters are going. We're gonna be okay."


End file.
